


the pull of the tide

by ms_starlight71



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Emily Arc (X-Files), Episode: s04e02 Home, Episode: s05e07 Emily, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27747508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_starlight71/pseuds/ms_starlight71
Summary: msr, missing scene for season 5 episode 7, Emily.
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	the pull of the tide

She comes to him, so small in that black sweater that cuts below the sharp expanse of her collarbones. There’s something about the way the Christmas lights dance off the walls that reflects the sea glass blue of her eyes, makes them even more mesmerizing in the moonlight. 

She stands before him, translucent, as if she is teetering on the edge of a precipice. Scully is an enigma, steadfast and strong. But when she opens herself up to possibility it is like she is cracking open her own chest, exposing every last inch of herself to an autopsy.

“Can you hold me?” she exhales, unsure, biting her lower lip. 

He takes in a breath, surprised, and gives her that boyish smile, the one that forms a crinkle around his eyes. Her heart lurches, reminded of the light he brought out in Emily.

She hesitates for a moment, licks her lips in concentration, and then curls up on his lap without question, tucks her head into his chest as he wraps his sinewy forearms around her. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he urges softly, stroking her cheek with his thumb. 

She shifts slightly in his arms and he thinks she might pull away. It’s only for a second, but he tightens his hold anyway, the crinkle of his white dress shirt a stark contrast against her sweater. 

“I tried.”

“The moment I heard your voice,” she falters. Pauses. He runs his thumb over her wrist now, keeping a steady, even pattern. 

The elasticity of the darkness stretches. They always seem to find each other here. 

He thinks she might be finished, but then she starts again, her voice low and scratchy.

“Mulder, you see right through me. You see parts of me, parts of me sometimes I don’t even know are there.” She trembles in his arms, tears filling the crystal of her eyes. He slows the massage of his thumb, lets the darkness be the illusion of privacy he knows she needs. 

“It scares me.” 

He kisses the part in her hair, grateful for the coconut smell of her shampoo. The last time he kissed her there, her smell carried stale hospital rooms, wafts of chemotherapy treatments. 

The saltwater of her tears meets his wrist. He lets it linger, wants the alchemy of it to wash him, to bathe him in Scully.

He wonders if she knows how much he wants her to need him. He’d hook himself up to an IV, transfuse all of his blood into her veins if it meant that she would be safe, happy, full. Then again, maybe that’s selfish too, maybe he just wants to be close to her, wants the chemistry of their beings to comingle, to know they are one, somewhere in this universe. 

She places an open-mouthed kiss right below his ear, murmurs his name. It makes the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up. 

“Fill me up,” she says, her voice cracking ever so slightly. 

“Scully,” he hesitates, a question. 

“Mulder, I want to feel whole again.” 

He lifts her effortlessly, rests her on the couch below him. He stares at her, thinking of the way his breath caught in his throat this morning when he saw her with Emily, the wave of nausea swirling inside of him when he remembered he told her he never saw her as a mother before. 

Looking down at her now, he wonders how that could ever be true. She has always been anything and everything all at once, to him, anyway. He aches to be the softness she needs, to soothe the void that threatens to unravel her, that radiates from her in the twilight. 

Her hand reaches out to touch his face, run her palm against the stubble she finds there. He burrows into her hand, places a kiss at her pulse point.

This man. She wants to etch his chiseled outline into her memory. Longs to let herself be consumed by him. Be pulled under by his ever-moving tide. Give herself over to the crash of his waves, let him wade her through whatever comes next. 

He leans down to kiss the hollow of her throat, tongues the space where her cross should be. Thinks of the way he would keep it close to his chest when she was gone. Rub his fingers over it like a talisman when he was anxious, scared, wanting to slip from this world forever. Here, he says, with a kiss. A reminder that he will put his faith in her always, no matter the cost. 

In an instant they are both laid bare. He looks down at himself and then her, meets her gaze. Dares not to look away. Makes an offering of his body with the lift of his chin. 

She reaches down between them, places two fingers inside of herself, and coats him with her arousal. Guides him towards her opening. For a second, he gets lost in a daze, watching her. Those perfect nails and precise fingers stroke him. Her thumb makes circles around his tip, mirroring the rhythm he found on her wrist, as she brings him close to where she wants him. 

He slips inside of her and they both suck in a breath. 

“Scully,” he croaks, the tightness of her forcing him to close his eyes. 

She told him that she wanted to feel whole, but as he moves inside of her, listening to her muffled moans and his name whispered on her lips, he realizes she had it all wrong. 

“Mulder,” she pleads. He runs the tips of his fingers across her nipples. Catalogues the sounds of her sighs. Peppers kisses on every inch of skin he can find. Covers her body with his warmth. Tethers their heartbeats to each other by mere proximity. 

She is enraptured by his focus, the way he sees her in all of her disparate parts and never questions that she is whole. 

“Scully,” he marvels as he slips his hand between them, places his thumb at the apex of her thighs. Hypnotized by the way her abdominal muscles ripple in response to his every touch. 

“That’s it, Mulder,” she urges as he sucks her nipple into his mouth. She arches into him. 

He loves her in every iteration. But this. This. This. 

They are two bodies, set in motion, attempting to master the choreography of this unknowable thing between them. 

“Mulder,” she begs, breathless. Scrapes her nails up his back in encouragement. 

“Come in me, Mulder.” Not a suggestion, but a command. 

He swallows, “Scully,” barely able to hang on, drunk on the way she engulfs him. 

“Mulder,” she begs. “Please. Fill me up.”

He increases the speed of his thumb on her clit. “It’s just me, Scully. I’ve got you.” 

She lets out a moan. 

“Let go, Mulder.”

And with her breath in his ear, he tumbles over the edge.

“I love you,” he whimpers. 

With one last swipe of his thumb, she shatters below him. Quiet and arching, mouth open. He commits this moment to memory. The way her collarbone lifts into the light as he gets a glimpse of the freckles that form constellations across her chin and down her neck. He’s always been unsteady on the water, but he’d follow the path they chart wherever it takes him. 

And then she is crying, heaving, sucking in air like she is trying to hold off what she knows is coming. 

He scoops her up, cradles her as she closes in on herself. Forms a parenthesis around her as she curls her legs into the fetal position. Their bodies entangled in each other. 

“Baby, I’ve got you. I’m here.” He rocks her, whispers the words over and over until he feels her breath steady. 

“I’ve got you. I’m here.” She prays he never lets go.


End file.
